


Pass It On

by sariane



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Natasha Romanov Joins SHIELD, Origin Story, Redemption, SHIELD, bb!Phil Coulson, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/pseuds/sariane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking a second chance is easy. Living up to it well enough to pass it on to someone else...that's hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pass It On

**Author's Note:**

> Fyi, this fic plays around with character origins, pretty much ignoring the semi-canonical stuff from, like, second screen apps. Movie canon is favored. Additionally, one scene is vaguely based upon the Captain America: Winter Soldier comic arc and conjecture for the second Captain America movie.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy! :)
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> -Canon-typical violence.
> 
> _Maddie has a rule about passing on favors, which she calls the Aerodrome Drop-Off Principle. It is very simple. If someone needs to get to an airfield and you can get them there…you should always take them. Because someday you will need a ride to an airfield too. Someone different will have to take you, so the favor gets passed on instead of paid back._  
>  \- _Code Name Verity_ by Elizabeth Wein

Natasha cornered him in a narrow, empty alleyway that lead to nowhere. She wondered where he thought he was going, anyways. He was too smart to let himself be cornered like this. He _had_ to be.

As she followed him through the alley, the dirty red brick walls close enough to make a fight difficult, Natasha was on high alert. The Winter Soldier didn’t make mistakes. Not like this. It was worrying. Was he really that desperate?

Steve – not that she needed him – was preoccupied with another surprise attack from an assassin. He’d given her the all-clear to go after the Winter Soldier, but she didn’t like it.

Still, they couldn’t lose him. Not now. She had to do this, for herself, for Steve…and for _him_.

Natasha faced him in the alleyway with clenched fists and shook off the feeling that she was falling into the steely jaws of a trap.

“James,” she said in a low voice to the man backed against brick walls and trash cans, “it’s Natasha. Do you remember me?” She didn’t think he would, but she had to try.

“I already told you people, I don’t want anything to do with you,” Bucky spat, standing his ground.

“If you’ll just listen to me—“ she started. When she drew her gun, he pounced.

He disarmed her as easily as breathing, moving almost as fluidly and quickly as her when he took the gun. Almost.

She’d expected the attack. Natasha managed to throw the gun into a trash can, out of reach. She fought hard, but it was difficult to gain the upper hand without using lethal force – especially against a man with a robotic arm. He sidestepped her blows and stepped behind her.

Bucky pulled a knife out of thin air and she felt the cool metal sharp against her throat. Before he could draw more than a trickle of blood, she bit into his right hand, forcing him to drop the dagger. She gasped in pain when he tried to wrap his hands around her neck.

Natasha grabbed his hands and broke his grip, elbowed him in the side, and threw him onto his back on the dirty concrete. Before he could even touch the ground, she grabbed his left metal arm and pressed a button on the side. When she felt it catch, she ripped it away and threw the robotic arm aside. It clattered on the pavement.

Bucky groaned and went limp on the ground. His hair fell into his eyes.

Not taking any chances, Natasha knelt down and put him in a hold, her arm around his neck and his remaining arm secure.

“Come on, James. We can help you,” she said. His breath was heavy in her ears.

“Why?” he growled. “Why should I trust you?”

*

“Because I’m one of the good guys.”

Clint looked the woman in the eye. It was hard, trying to seem trustworthy when you had an arrow pointed at someone’s face, but it wasn’t like he was going to go into this _unarmed._

It didn’t help that Romanoff was suspicious as hell and unable to believe that someone might be willing to actually help her out. She was outright skeptical. He didn’t blame her.

The Black Widow. He bet she didn’t get a lot of people offering to be _her_ ally.

 “One of the good guys,” she laughed, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. “There’s no such thing. You all lie and kill and die to further your own agendas. We’re all the same.”

Clint shrugged.

“That’s one way to look at it,” he said. “Or you could look at what our agenda actually _is._ What we do. What we, as you say, lie and kill and die for – if that’s what really happens.”

“What is it you do, then?” Romanoff sneered. She was just playing for time, he could tell. She didn’t have any weapons (Well, not that he could see, as he’d disarmed her, but she probably had a few daggers stashed on her person;  he wasn’t keen on getting close enough to search her), other than her tongue and her mind. Both of them were sharp as a knife.

“We save the world,” Clint said casually, as though it was no big deal. She raised her eyebrows. “No, really,” he said. “We fight anything strange and unusual that the rest of the world can’t cope with. Terrorism, any of that weird shit conspiracy theorists love, groups like HYDRA and AIM – why are you laughing?” Her chuckle was deep and throaty.

“Do they teach you this speech at your training center?” she asked.

“Do they teach you how to stall at yours?” he countered. Clint sighed. “Look,” he said, lowering his voice, “I could’ve killed you by now if I wanted to.”

“But you haven’t,” Romanoff said. Her voice was different, less sure. Was she afraid of dying? Was she actually afraid of _him_? “Why?” she asked.

“Because I’d like to give you a second chance.”

“A second chance at what, exactly?”

*

“You tell me,” Phil said.

Barton was nursing a split lip, wheezing from what were probably cracked ribs, and blinking to get the blood out of his eyes from a cut on his forehead that Phil _really_ wanted checked out. He probably had a concussion, too, judging from the force Phil had had to use. He wasn’t sorry.

Phil stood his ground and crossed his arms, staring down at Barton where he lay on the sidewalk.

He forced his voice down into a tone that was nonchalant and stern. “What exactly were you trying to achieve here, Mr. Barton?”

Barton let out a sigh from between his teeth, a noise that conveyed both pain and shame.

“Not sure,” he said, turning the sigh into a chuckle. “I thought I was stopping thieves and murderers, at first.”

That wasn’t what Phil wanted. God, this guy could beat around the bush.

“So, would you like to explain to me how you ended up becoming one of them?” Phil asked, tapping his foot a little.

Barton shrugged, then winced when the motion jostled his ribs.

“Shit,” he said. “I just – you know how it is.” Phil gave him a look that conveyed that he certainly _didn’t_ , and he was offended that Barton would imply such a thing. “There are no health benefits in vigilante justice?” Barton tried again.

“Mr. Barton, if you aren’t going to take this situation seriously—“

Phil’s Boss Voice did it. Barton groaned and lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

“They said _I_ was the one who was robbing places and mugging people,” Barton said, lowering his voice as though he was ashamed of himself. “And, as it turns out, there are people who will pay a very large amount of money for someone who can rob certain places. And they’ll pay even more if you’re a good shot. Money’s hard to come by when you have a criminal record and no high school degree.” He wet his lips when he finished speaking.

 Phil stared on, forcing Barton to look down in shame.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” Barton said. “Happy? You can throw me in jail now.”

 “Or,” Phil paused, trying not to smile at the look on Barton’s face as he said, “you could work with me at SHIELD.”

“SHIELD? What’s SHIELD?”

*

“It’s the name of the organization I run,” Nick Fury sighed.

The kid didn’t look impressed.

“What’s it stand for?” he asked, crossing his arms like he thought it made him look more serious and impressive. It just made his elbows look that much bonier.

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division,” Nick continued. “Which you know perfectly well, considering we caught you hacking into our databases last night.”

“Who, me?” the kid replied, but he couldn’t hide his grin.

“Yeah,” Nick said, shuffling through the file he’d brought to the kid’s tiny, crappy apartment. He was sitting in front of his computer even now, shifting back and forth in his rolling chair in the most obnoxious way. Nick glanced over the kid’s file.

“Phil Coulson, otherwise known as ‘Cheese,’ former member of the ‘Hacking Commandos,’” he read, raising an eyebrow. “Hacked into our secure servers last night at approximately 4:26 AM. You had the ability to access files on anything. Top secret missions, weapons, building layouts…” Nick paused for effect. “And what do you look up? Captain. America.”

“Technically,” Coulson interrupted, “he _is_ a weapon.” He bit back a smile again. Nick sighed.

“You aren’t making it any easier on yourself, kid,” he said.

“Sorry,” Coulson said. He didn’t seem sorry at all.

“You do know that you’ve committed an offense that could land you in jail,” Nick continued. “ _Indefinitely._ ” That sobered the kid up.

“I don’t get a trial?” he asked. “What evidence is there?”

“I’m offering you a plea bargain,” Nick continued. He glanced around the kid’s crappy apartment. He’d gone to a good college, graduated _summa cum laude_ even after wrecking havoc with his little hacker group _,_ but he was overqualified for his job and it didn’t pay nearly enough. “You come work for _me._ ”

“As a hacker?” Coulson said, biting his lip. “I don’t know if I could – the Soviets will have better firewalls than you.”

“We don’t want you to spy on the Russians,” Fury sighed. “I need someone to manage our security. Obviously, we have some holes.”

There it was again, that spark of self-assurance in Coulson’s eye. “Obviously,” he snorted. Then, something in his body language changed. He straightened up, and Nick finally saw what he was really looking for in the kid. It wasn’t hacking, not quite.

Coulson sifted through the papers on his desk until he found the one he wanted, a simple printout with a list of demands, and handed it to Nick.

“I want a team,” Coulson said as Nick’s eyes skimmed the list, “I’ll need top of the line equipment – I know you can get me the supplies. No skimping. I need to be three steps ahead of whoever it is we’re facing here. And I want a team. Three or four people who can work under me, to test everything, to help me redesign and reorganize your systems.”

He was more prepared than Nick had expected. He’d known SHIELD would come for him. Hell, he’d probably planned this.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit presumptuous to work out your salary before you’ve even accepted my deal?” Nick said as he looked up from the list of demands.

“We work it out now or it’s no deal,” Coulson said, as though Fury couldn’t lock him up forever without blinking his eye. “So, what do you say?”

“It’s a deal,” Nick said, holding out his hand. “Agent Coulson.”

Coulson took his hand. He shook it.

“Welcome to SHIELD.”

**Author's Note:**

> (If you haven't read _Code Name Verity _by Elizabeth Wein, I highly recommend it. Especially if you're a 1940s Captain America/Bucky Barnes/Peggy Carter/Howling Commandos fan.)__


End file.
